The other day driving home from Jackson, I was listening to the radio and my heart throb, Allan Jackson came on singing his song "Gone Country". It happens to be one of my favorites, 'cause I just happen to come from a long line of country folks.
But, this particular day, the song set me to thinkin', back to when my oldest son, Jody (now pushing 40), had his first taste of "the country", at the ripe old age of three...We were spending the week-end in the little Valdasta Baptist Church parsonage. The 30-member church had a little trailer house behind the church which served as the parsonage.
By the way, I did mention this was a "country" church, didn't I?
Anyhow, early that Sunday morning, the neighbor's rooster started crowing around 5 a.m. or so.
I was yanked from a peaceful sleep, not from the crowing rooster, but from the pitter-patter of little feet running down the hall. Jody flung open the bedroom door screaming, "Momma, what's that noise?"
It suddenly dawned on me this child had never heard a rooster crow? As a matter of fact, I'm not sure he'd ever seen a chicken before in his brief little life.
My city boy had "gone country."
Later that day, Jody would get his second initiation into countrified living. The congregation gathered for Sunday morning services in the small Baptist church. Singing praises to the Lord, and waiting for the pastor to preach the Word. In that moment of glorious, uplifting praise, my little Jody tugged at my skirt. "Momma, I've gotta go to the bathroom," he said.
And in the wisdom of a true parent I whispered, "Can't you wait?"
"No, I gotta go bad. And, I gotta go now!"
Dutifully, I took my toddler by the hand and down the isle we went heading for the door. All eyes were on us as the front door opened. On to the front porch, down the steps, and toward the "outhouse" we went.
Remember, I warned you the little church was "country."
With wide-eyed wonderment, my darling little Jody looked at me and quizzically asked, "Where are we going?"
"To the bathroom," I snapped.
I opened the door and in we went. Looking perplexed and confused, this little "city" boy, in all his innocence said, "Momma, just what the heck is this?"
"This is the bathroom, and there's where you sit."
"Well, why are there two holes?" he asked.
And, before I could conjure up an answer to the same question I had mulled over for years, he said, "I got it, one's for you, and one's for me." I just gave him that yes little one look and told him to take care of business.
At that point, I hadn't yet realized how well he had absorbed his outhouse education, not until we re-entered the church. Before I could catch him, he flung open the church door and proudly announced, "Me and Momma been to the outhouse." I could have died right then and there.
But, making the best of the moment, I took his little hand and together we marched down the isle to our seat.
God must have a sense of humor.
My city boy had "gone country."
A couple of years later, we moved to the country, to a community called Frognot. Now, Frognot's not quite like anyplace else, but it does exist.
When we first turned the water on in the house we were calling home, the whole place looked like it was equipped with an indoor sprinkler system.
Unfortunately, it was busted pipes…this was not a pretty sight.
Jody, now five, was again stricken with the necessary urge to go to the bathroom. I told him the bathroom wasn't working and he'd have to go outside, after all we were now living in the country. He looked at me like I was out of my mind.
"But, Mom, I gotta do the other kind," he said.
"That's ok, know one will see you. We're in the country now," I said. "Just go out by the tree and squat down and do your business."
I watched him head for the tree, wasting no time I might add. Then, he started turning around in circles like a little puppy looking for a place to do his business.
I suddenly realized, the child didn't have a clue as to how to squat. Laughing, I found him an old bucket, which served the purpose quite well for this city boy learning to be "country."
Years later, the city lured him away. But, from my corner of the world, I think deep down, he's still a little countrified.
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